


Hello, It’s Me

by Gummiebear



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 09:33:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gummiebear/pseuds/Gummiebear
Summary: I’m in California dreaming of how we use to be when we were younger.Eric tears them apart, is it too late to stop the damage?





	Hello, It’s Me

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give a massive shoutout to Callie for holding my hand as I wrote this. Supplying me with endless inspiration in the way of the saddest playlist one can create. It totally lit a fire under my ass.
> 
> Of course to my Tina, my muse, my life force. This isn’t your cup of tea but you still gave me all the support I needed as I wrote this. I love you.

Eric closed the door behind him with his foot and searched the wall blindly for the light switch. He turned it on, bag still in his hand, and sighed. He was home, or at least his new home. Finally he dropped his hands and shoulders all at once, another sigh escaping his lips. He was exhausted, a ten hour flight would do that to anyone. A flight where he could’ve slept or relaxed, maybe watch a movie or two, an entire series of television, but Eric couldn’t. He couldn’t shut off his brain or focus enough to pay attention to the small screen in front of him. He did a few crossword puzzles, tried his hand at Sudoku, got confused easily and closed the app quickly. He was home now, or his home for the next seven or so months. Los Angeles, the city of dreams. The home to grab Lakers, Rams, Clippers, and more iconic sports franchises. The city David Beckham put on the map with the Galaxy before LAFC came around and dethroned them. Now it was Eric’s turn to put his stamp on Major League Soccer, another English bloke in Los Angeles to revive the sport in America.

His first night was reckless, couldn’t get comfortable and his body was all off wack. His mind and body were eight hours ahead, jet lag taking its toll early. He had a day to get himself acclimated before meetings and press conferences and public appearances. He couldn’t meet the brutal American press looking exhausted, bags under his eyes, red eyes from lack of sleep and the occasional crying. Eric shook his head and dug his nails into his palms to stop another wave of tears from washing over him. This was a good decision, one he needed to make, wanted to make. He fell out of love with English football months ago, this was the best transition. He always wanted to play in America, now it was just sooner than he anticipated. He loved America, the sights, the sounds, the people. It was just a smart career move, or at least that what his agent kept telling him to say in all his interviews over the summer. Focus on the football, bring a trophy home with England, and don’t forget to remember what a great opportunity to play for the MLS was. It was useless getting any sleep, he’d deal with the consequences later. Now he needed to get up, and prepare for his long day. Everything still felt foreign to him, the climate, the atmosphere, even the television shows.

His body itched to reach for his phone and call home. Call him mum and just cry like he did when he was a kid at football camp. He was an adult though, twenty six, and he made this decision on his own, albeit a little out of the blue, but he was the one who signed on the dotted line. He knew everyone back home was probably awake and starting their day, going on like nothing ever happened. His friends enjoying the last few weeks of a peaceful and calm English summer before life started again. Preseason training for those who returned to the club early, some in the middle of their holiday in a secluded location in the middle of nowhere. Eric cut his holiday short to come to Los Angeles, make his first public appearance, strike while the iron was hot. Do the obligatory photo shoots, wearing a jersey with his name on the back, greet the fans and press jovially, like he didn’t just throw away his entire life, public and personal, just to get out of London as quickly as possible. Eric felt nauseous at the thought of London and all he left behind. He packed up as much as his life as possible into three bags, dropped Clay off at his sister’s home and said his goodbyes. Took a red eye to Los Angeles and vowed to never look back. His life at Tottenham was over, he was going to blend in with the rest of the blonde hair blue eyed people in California. Be anonymous for the first time in his life and enjoy it. Enjoy playing football for fun without the added pressure of the world looking at him.

Once the sun was up Eric had already made himself coffee, the one thing he begged to have in his flat before he even officially moved it. It was a rental home, the owners were donors to LAFC and took pity on their newest midfielder. They stocked the fridge with items that almost made Eric miss home, miss heading to Tescos to pick up odd and ends to make a proper breakfast or a stir fry when he couldn’t sleep in the middle of the night. Now he had to rely on bread and butter for toast or a bowl of cereal. A hearty meal to start his day. Eric rolled his eyes as he sipped on his third cup of coffee, eyeing his phone as it buzzed on the kitchen island in front of him. It was his mum making sure he got in safely and was was adapting as easily as possible. He replied with a sleepy face emoji, the only thing to accurately describe what he was feeling at the moment. The bit the bullet and pulled up his Instagram, he turned off his notifications the moment he made his transfer announcement. He didn’t want to be reminded of the garbage and hate that filled his feed on what felt like a daily basis. The last thing he posted was his goodbye to the Tottenham organization and fans. Pictures of memories both good and bad of his five year tenure with the club. The day he signed with Pochettino next to him, both wearing big smiles. His first match, his first goal. Reaching the Champions League final and then the agony of defeat. The endless dramas of North London Derbies. Losing out on titles year after year but still progressing and enjoying the ride the entire time.

He skimmed the notifications, comments and likes by now ex teammates from the club and even some Arsenal lads, wishing him well and luck with his future. The one notification he was looking for never came. He knew it wouldn’t, he had burned that bridge and there was no way of repairing it, not even distance was going to fix what happened. Eric was a fool to think that a change would magically change everything. The sun was rising when Eric decided to shower and officially start his day. He had a meeting with the club president and owner bright and early before being whisked away to the media hoopla that his transfer entailed. Before he got into the bathroom he deleted the Instagram app off his phone so he wasn’t tempted to search for a like that was never going to come. Out of sight, out of mind. That was how Eric had to treat London now, specifically one person in London. He didn’t want to remember the look in his eyes when he dropped the bomb that Tottenham was letting him go and he had an offer from LAFC. Eric didn’t even want to listen to other offers that would inevitably pour in once the news of his contract ending broke. All of a sudden England felt too small and Spain, Italy, Germany, and even Portugal felt too close.

_“We’re gonna do it,” Dele whispered into Eric’s chest as he slotted their legs together. “Win, I mean. Bring it home for England.”_

_Eric smiled down at Dele softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Delboy. We’re in the group of death.”_

_“Teams we’ve beat before,” he reminded him. “I’m not scared of Cristiano or Van Dijk.”_

_“My ever optimistic babe,” he teased. “We take one game at a time. Focus on what’s right in front of us, not too far down the road.”_

_“Yes captain,” he said with a laugh, placing a kiss to Eric’s chest, right above his heart. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Diet. I couldn’t picture playing without you by my side. Here or for Spurs.”_

_Eric grabbed a tighter hold to Dele, trying to push him closer. “Forever, Del. I’m forever by your side.”_

Eric’s unveiling in front of the press and selected fans went well. His meeting in the morning was more tactical than anything else, going over his schedule for the next week or so before joining the team for training a week later, with the press present. He even met with Carlos Vela, the team captain to greet him and welcome him to Los Angeles and the team. It was actually a good experience, feeling welcome and wanted for the first time in a very long time. He did the obligatory photo with the manger, pretending to sign the contract, smiles on their faces and dreams in their eyes. He stood in front of a room of press and answered questions like a pro, his agent on the sidelines smiling widely as he charmed the crowd. Eric knew how to play a room, get them on his inside instantly. The questions were easy and light, his agent made sure of that. Asking him about his transition thus far and what he was looking forward to now he was in Los Angeles full time. He joked and smiled and teased that he wasn’t used to all the sunlight and warm weather. He gave them all the answers they wanted, being glad for a new opportunity, of course he was going to miss Tottenham and England but he knew it was time for a change and to move on and spread his wings. Make a name for himself elsewhere while he was still young and healthy.

The pictures were next and all Eric saw were flashes in front of his eyes. Some photographers yelling him to look one way than another as he help up his shirt with Dier printed on the back and his number fifteen. He smiled and held it proudly, which he was. He was proud to join a club that was young and hungry, reminded him of when he signed for Spurs and heard all the plans Pochettino had for the club. LAFC made it to the finals the last two years, losing both, but still a feat no one could take away from them. Overshadowed by another club in the same city but had all the potential in the world, it was something Eric was used to. For a brief time Eric forgot about his life and all that was left to burn back in London. He was focused on Los Angeles and giving his all to the club and proving all the doubters wrong. All the papers and fans who said he was washed up and a waste of space on a lineup. He knew he had to fight hard and earn his place but he was ready and more than determined to do so. The cameras followed him as he made his way into the team locker room and weight room for more pictures and more easy questions. He stood in front of his cubby and genuinely smiled at his name etched on the plaque already. He wasn’t even in the city for a full twenty four hours and he was already being greeted warmly and with open arms. It was all so surreal, out of body really.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Eric got back to his rental home. He stopped at McDonalds on his way home to grab the greasiest most unhealthy food he could think of. It deserved it after all, he was still technically on summer holiday despite a heavy workload already. He had an entire week to get used to his new surroundings before reporting for training. He stood over the island to eat his Big Mac and large fries, downing his Dr. Pepper by slurping from his straw. It was too quiet in the apartment, he didn’t know American television yet or the radio stations, so he ate in silence. He ended his meal with a butterfinger McFlurry, a well deserved treat he had to remind himself. He scrolled through his phone, looking through the pictures that were sent to him by the teams photographer. Eric was taken aback at how happy he looked, despite the massive bags under his eyes. His smile was wide, teeth showing, face glowing. He saved the one he liked the most out of the bunch he was sent to use later for his new Twitter and Instagram profile picture. He was glad that along with signing with a new team, he got a social media manager, someone to post for him before, during, and after the games. He still had control but now he someone to help him appeal to an American audience.

Against his better judgement Eric decided to look through his camera roll. He was full of crap food and nostalgia was gnawing at his mind. His last few pictures taken were of Clay and his old home. Pictures of his niece and nephew before he packed everything up and took off in the middle of the night. He was gone for a day but still couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that he moved thousands of miles away in what some felt like was a drop of a hat. His finger hovered over the phone button, wanting to exit his pictures and just shut his phone off. It felt as if he had an angel and a devil on each of his shoulders. One telling him to move on and shower before bed, the reasonable solution. The other side told him to keep scrolling and find the picture that was permanently burned into his mind. The one picture that still a month later turned his stomach into knots. Made his skin flush and warm with the memories. It was a tug or war in his mind as he kept scrolling, ignoring all the other photos that could’ve brought back painful memories to search for the specific one that would send him over the edge. He found the photo and just stared at him, leaning his elbows against the counter and just looked at it. He placed his phone on the counter and zoomed into certain angles, not like he hadn’t memorized every single piece of the picture.

_“What are you doing?” Dele asked sleepily. He was lying in their shared hotel room, the sheet bunched against his hips. His voice was hoarse, the snap of Eric’s phone waking him._

_“Remembering this,” Eric replied softly, snapping another picture._

_“Eric,” he groaned and covered his face embarrassingly. “Stop, babe.”_

_Eric stood back and angled his camera sideways to get all of Dele into the frame. The sun in Rome rising outside their window, its rays making Dele’s sun kissed skin pop against the hotel room sheets. A tiny sliver of his left hip showing, reminding Eric of how Dele was completely naked underneath after their wild night the night before._

_“Eric,” he repeated, still covering his face. “You’re crazy.”_

_“Day one of what could be our last competition with England,” Eric told him. “I’ve got the love of my life lying in my bed, covered in next nothing on the day our lives can change. I want to capture it.”_

_Dele pulled the sheets up and over his body, only leaving his head peeking out. “I’m not for sale, Dier.”_

_Eric put his phone on the bedside table, pleased with the photos he captured. He kneeled on the bed and crawled towards Dele, kissing his lips soft and quick. “You’re priceless, love.”_

The first few days in Los Angeles took Eric some time to get used to. He knew the landmarks and a general idea of how far or close he was to them, but actually getting there was something else entirely. He rented a car on his first full free day off, he knew he had to buy one eventually, after he got himself situated properly. He drove to the pier in Santa Monica, watched the weightlifters in Muscle Beach, stuck his toes in the sand and silently missed the warm summer mornings in Portugal. For the first time in a long time Eric felt inspired, relaxed. He took his phone out of his pocket and snapped a few pictures of the horizon. He closed his eyes as a soft wind blew across the water. He knew he had to physically and mentally adjust to his new surroundings but if he were able to come and visit the water once in a while, Eric knew he’d be okay. Being on the beach and just watching the waves crash against the shore was empowering, made him realize how powerful life was. How all the problems he was currently facing and running away from was minute and not as scary as he made them out to be.

After leaving the beach Eric walked around the pier and took in the sights and sounds of his new surroundings. Playing tourist and not once getting stopped for a picture or an autograph because everyone else was there to enjoy themselves as well. He did receive a side eye from young kids once or twice but they all shook their heads and continued their own walk down the pier. The anonymity of being in Los Angeles was something he had craved for years. He was able to go out and have a real life in London but now, he was just some bloke, no preconceived notions about him, no one winding him up for a story in the papers for fifteen minutes of fame. Eric stopped in a few shops to get souvenirs to send back home. Onesies for the babies, shirts and shot glasses for his brothers and sisters. Maybe a candle for his mum, something gaudy for his dad. Give them a piece of Los Angeles to remind them of Eric and his new journey. The gnawing feeling never left his mind of how he could still be within arms reach of his family if he just stayed in Europe and accepted Sportings offer that inevitably came a little too late. The sound of slamming doors and glass breaking still echoed in his mind and that was all the reminder he needed as to why he left. A fresh clean break to heal and start over. LAFC has something all the other teams didn’t, Eric had zero chance of running into his past.

Home was still quiet, too quiet. He was used to having a house that always had noise. Either Clay’s nails against the hardwood floor or music blaring as Eric worked out in his mini home gym. Now in this one bedroom flat in downtown Los Angeles, everything was silent. The only noise was from the street downstairs, that was never silent. Horns honking, people laughing, the night life of a large city carrying on without him. There was a bar down the block from his apartment that he was tempted to go to, get himself familiar with the local scene, become a proper member of Los Angeles scene but something was stopping him. Something was telling him to refrain from having a drink or two, knowing that it would just lead him down a path he wasn’t ready to go down. So, Eric sat himself down on his couch and channel surfed, looking for something to watch and numb his screaming mind. PBS was showing a documentary on The Beatles that caught Eric’s attention. Seeing sights and sounds of England made him slightly crave home. It was footage from the 1960’s but it still looked the same. Store fronts may have gotten a face lift in the past fifty years but it was still England nonetheless. Seeing video and pictures of Liverpool reminded Eric of cold, rainy nights at Anfield. The tackles, the goals, the atmosphere. He looked over at his phone that was sitting next to him, pressing the home button to see what notifications he may have. News alerts from Sky Sports, an update from his Candy Crush app. No texts, no emails, at least not from the one person he desperately wanted one from.

Against his better judgment, which was common for Eric since moving, Eric unlocked his phone. The Beatles were still playing and Ringo was reminiscing about recording Abbey Road on TV. He scrolled through his Twitter feed, seeing the notifications from fans wishing him well, tagging him in posts of his time at Tottenham or fan art they had created over the years. It was touching and made Eric feel like he didn’t waste five years of his life while with the club, that it did mean something after all. The fans were the ones he was going to miss the most, the ones who supported him and stood by his side through all the ups and downs he dealt with. He kept scrolling through his Twitter, just catching himself up on his friends and families lives. He saw a link to an Instagram page that made him want to redownload the application. He knew he shouldn’t, would only be a disaster, but he also wanted to see if the possibility of the notification he craved for was there. Eric’s finger hovered over the exit button as the app was downloading, regretting the decision as soon as he made it. It was only going to cause him sorrow and pain in the long run. Maybe he was a masochist after all. He signed back into his account and was greeted immediately with all the notifications he neglected the past three days. Posts he was tagged in from fans, pictures he wasn’t even in.

Eric’s heart briefly stopped when he saw it. A certain name liking his post and the like was recent. He hadn’t let it sit there for days. He felt his cheeks go red and his stomach tighten with the thought of him casually scrolling through his Instagram feed on his holiday in the south of France and fondly smiling at Eric’s post and liking it. Eric found it funny how he decided to stay in Europe for his holiday despite flying all around the continent in three and a half weeks. Ibiza was played out, he claimed he was too mature to party with the young crowd anymore. Mykonos wasn’t the same without him so he settled for the French coast. Rubbing elbows with the elite and royalty, a life he only dreamt of as a kid In Milton Keynes. Eric just froze as he eyes zeroed on the like. It was one of the many thousand he received on the post, but the one he needed the most. The one that seemed like an olive branch. Eric closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he could feel himself overthinking this already and he knew that wasn’t going to end well. He needed to remain rational. It was Instagram, it meant nothing, but it also meant everything.

“Hey, it’s Dele, leave a message.”

Eric wanted to smack himself as he heard Dele’s voicemail and froze. He didn’t know why he had the sudden urge to call him, talk to him, hear his voice. He knew Dele would be asleep or partying it up in France seeing the time difference between them was nine hours. A whole lifetime between them. Eric hated how nostalgia and a flicker of hope ignited all of this. He closed his Instagram app quickly and pulled up his WhatsApp, scrolling through his contacts before landing on Dele. He refrained from reading their chains of texts knowing that would add to the feeling of hopelessness and dread he was already feeling. He hovered over the phone button before biting the bullet and dialing. With every unanswered ring Eric grew more anxious. What was he going to say if Dele did answer? Or did Dele see who was calling and purposely ignore it? A million things were running through his mind and none of them were good.

“H-hey, Del. Umm I-I just wanted to call and say umm thanks for the like, you know, on Instagram,” Eric rambled as he left a voicemail. “Hope your holiday is going well, that you’re enjoying your much needed time off. Call me back if you can. Or don’t. No worries. No pressure. Uh yeah bye.”

Eric wanted to smack himself or throw himself off the roof as he hung up the phone and threw it towards the opposite end of the couch. His entire body felt hot and his stomach felt hollow and tight. He couldn’t have felt any more embarrassed than he did at that moment. He couldn’t even play it off as something he did drunk, he was completely sober and frankly, he was just in his feelings. He was overwhelmed with so many emotions that he couldn’t help himself. Stupid Instagram. He knew downloading the app again would do this. He also knew it wasn’t the applications fault, he was looking for an excuse all along to make contact with him. Too bad he found the stupidest reason to do so. Now he had to wait, wait for a reply or just wait to see if Dele would let it go. Ignore it and move on like he said he would. All Eric could do was live with the anxiety that every time his phone made a noise it could be a call or text from Dele or it could just be his Candy Crush app letting him know he had more lives. It was something he had to deal with and he was the only one to blame.

_“Get off your phone,” Dele whined._

_Eric hummed at Dele’s words, hearing him but not paying attention as he scrolled through his emails and texts._

_“Eric,” he groaned, throwing himself onto the bed dramatically. “Pay attention to me.”_

_Eric took his left hand and blindly patted Dele on the head. He smirked as he heard him groan in frustration._

_“We’re in Budapest, Diet. I want to go sightseeing not forced to be stuck in this room with Mr. Grumpy,” he told him, still whining._

_“Go,” Eric told him nonchalantly. “Some of the lads were chatting at breakfast about going out to see the sights.”_

_Dele immediately sat up and looked directly at Eric, head cocked to the side curiously. “Who are you and what have you done with my dorky boyfriend?”_

_Eric locked his phone and placed it on his thigh. “Hmm?”_

_“You don’t want to go sightseeing? You want to stay here and do what?” Dele asked._

_“Just relax,” he guessed with a shrug. “Read. Catch up on stuff.”_

_“Catch up on stuff,” Dele repeated with a scoff. “We’re in a European competition. What stuff do you need to catch up on? Piers Morgan is still a twat, the U.K. is in shambles. The end.”_

_“I’m busy, Del,” he told him. “Go on without me. Trent and Hendo were going to meet in the lobby soon.”_

_Dele got up from the bed and shook his head in slight disbelief. “You’re unbelievable, Dier.”_

_“Don’t,” he replied. “Don’t be like that. Go have fun with the lads, don’t miss me too much, okay?”_

_“Unbelievable,” Dele muttered under his breath as he headed towards the bathroom to shower._

Eric’s first day of training reminded him of how much he missed football, how much it was a part of his being, woven into his DNA. Being outside with his new teammates, the sun beating down on him, the ball at his feel, it all made him feel alive. He could instantly tell these group of guys had a lot of fun but also worked hard. Eric shook his head of the memories that were trying to clout his mind as he trained, jokes being said as they stretched, glances from across the practice pitch that lead to instant smiles. He was enjoying the warm California sunshine in the middle of August, he felt included without trying too hard to fit in. Slotted into the club without any problems. Gauging everyone as they trained, being more than aware of the cameras along the stands snapping pictures of him and them. They all just returned to their All Star break with fresh legs and passion in their hearts. Some of them congratulating Eric on the performance over the summer, glad he joined their team to better them as a whole. He was also told by some of the guys that they weren’t going to take it easy on him just because he was an international star. At first he was taken aback by that but then welcomed it. He didn’t want to be handled and looked after like he was special, he wanted to earn his place and earn his respect.

After the training wrapped up he headed to the sidelines and posed for solo pictures, still pretending to practice. He kicked the ball around the field, took a picture by the goal. Eric was lucky enough that Carlos Vela was nice enough to stick around and take some photos with him. He was telling Eric that he had to do the same when he joined the club. Eric didn’t know why but he felt an instant connection with his club captain. Maybe it was because they were both towards the end of their careers and both had accomplished so much for club and country. Carlos was a star in Mexico and in Spain when he played for Real Sociedad. He made an instant impact in Los Angeles, turning this team into the powerhouse it was in such a short period of time. The rivalry with Zlatan, who was the better playing in Los Angeles. The derbies between LAFC and The Galaxy that put the city at a stand still. That’s what Eric wanted, that’s what made him excited about football. The little things that added up to make up the big picture. Bob Bradley had told him so much about this club that was still in its infancy and that’s why drew him to Los Angeles. Eric would stay up late at night and just watch videos of matches, full ninety minutes, and just fall in love with their style of play. It was new and fresh and very American but it clicked with Eric immediately. That’s why he chose to come here, for a new challenge, a way to reboot himself and his career. To be known as Eric Dier the footballer once again and not Eric Dier the benchwarmer.

He went back to the changing room after more photos were taken and a brief interview was given to the team website. He usually would blow those things off or give open ended answers just to rush through it but this time he was honest. He wanted to start fresh and that required the truth and commitment to the entire project. He spoke of his worries of not fitting in and feeling out of place but knew after one practice that there wasn’t a need for that. He raved about the weather which got a laugh from the reporter, happy to play in sunny Los Angeles but slightly dreaded the late fall weather when they were away. He’d seen how bad the snow can get up in Washington and Oregon and he knew that they had games scheduled up there come September and October. That was all in the distant future though, he had to focus on the now. He rummaged through his bag after showering and changing, searching for his car keys and his phone. He had a long night ahead of him of sitting alone in his apartment and watching crappy American television that he grown to secretly love. He skimmed through his notifications on his phone as he tried to locate his keys. Texts from his family group chat with some stupid memes and his sister asking for a recipe from their mum. It was a missed call and a voicemail that made Eric freeze in place. He never expected Dele to leave a voicemail let alone call him back. He sat back on the bench, the car keys he finally found discarded back into his bag. He sighed as he tentatively pressed the button to listen to the voicemail.

“What’s up Eric?” Dele’s voice echoed. He sounded light and bubbly, Eric heart immediately tightened at the sound. “Los Angeles treating you well? I’m living it up here in France on a yacht surrounded by tons of people, some I know, some I don’t. Cute bottle girls and hot male bartenders, I don’t know which one I’ll take with me back to mine. Maybe more than one seeing as I’m single now. Thanks to you. Enjoy your life, Eric cause I’m enjoying mine.”

Eric tossed his phone next to him with a loud thud, silently wishing he broke it. The air in his lungs emptied and his head felt empty, his body going cold and numb instantly. He didn’t expect a warm reception from Dele but he didn’t expect this. Venomous words hidden behind his warm giggles and soft tones. He messed up, he knew that, he didn’t need it thrown in his face. He was now supposed to stand up and head back to his apartment but he couldn’t, his body was glued to the bench. He wanted to run and hide and forget that the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. He had never felt so alone as he did right now. He couldn’t call anyone to vent to, drive to someone’s home to cry because his ex boyfriend said mean things to him. He wanted to call Dele back and tell him that what he said was wrong and uncalled for and unnecessary and if his intention was to hurt him, it worked. He also knew that Dele wasn’t wrong and what he did to him did hurt him and he was allowed to lash out and be angry. The only person to get mad at was himself. He broke it off with Dele unexpectedly and took off to almost the other side of the world in the middle of the night, cowardly. He had to get up. Literally and figuratively speaking, Eric had to move. He couldn’t let himself stay stuck. Reality was a hard pill to swallow but he had to take it down and move on.

He stopped at his go to McDonald’s on his way home, despite being back in training and needing to be on top fitness, Eric felt like he deserved a McFlurry after the day he had. He ate the dessert on the couch that night, responding to the texts from his family, silently praying and wishing they were with him but never having the courage to say it. Watching ESPN and seeing the highlights from all sports across the world. Serena Williams kicking butt and taking names at the US Open, the Dodgers on a roll at home. It shocked Eric when he saw himself on his television screen. It was a small story about his first day of training, who he was and what led him to make the move to MLS. The rumors about his transfer were exaggerated by the media, of course. Speculation about a rift between him and Pochettino, between him and the board. None of that was true. There wasn’t any animosity or bad blood, he just felt stuck. Physically and emotionally stuck at Spurs. Being with the national team he thought would shake that feeling but he just added to it. He felt lost in a crowded room, alone even though he never really was. His mind was itching for something different, something new. Every time he was in London with the national team Eric would have secret meetings with the top executives from Spurs voicing his concerns. Nothing was malicious despite rumors that were leaked to the press.

Sleeping was difficult that night, Dele’s words constantly replaying in his head. He did this to them. He tore them apart and changed their dynamic almost instantaneously. They were goofing off and having the best summer of their lives one moment and the next they were thousands of miles away, complete strangers. A clean break was what they both needed and clearly they both reacted to it differently. Eric delved into his work, training hard on and off the pitch, putting his work first and life a distant second. Dele was doing the complete opposite, taking the break up like he was set free from years of a relationship that bogged him down. He was now able to be the man the press made him out to be, a partier, a playboy with beautiful models all around him. Eric couldn’t blame him, despite how much it hurt him to think about it. He kept starting at Dele’s name in his WhatsApp, thinking of something to write him that would change everything. An apology wasn’t enough, groveling wouldn’t work either. He knew it was time to move on, let the wound heal, no matter how badly he was going to want to scratch the inevitable scab it would form. He came to Los Angeles to start fresh and he needed to go just that.

_“It’s our last night here,” Dele whispered into the dark, lying on his side, facing Eric. “The carousel ride is coming to an end.”_

_“We’ve got to beat Germany and third place is ours,” Eric said, his finger drawing patterns into Dele’s palm._

_“I don’t want it to end,” he whined, still speaking softly and low, taking a deep intake a breath. “I don’t want this to end.”_

_“I’m right here,” Eric scoffed, lacing their fingers together. “We do need to go to sleep though, love.”_

_“Don’t want to,” he said. “I feel like I may wake up and this will all be gone. Like this summer was just a dream.”_

_“You’ll be no good to the team if you don’t sleep,” he reminded him. “We’ll be no good to the team if you don’t sleep.”_

_“You’ll be here when I wake up?” Dele asked._

_Eric rubbed at his face harshly with his free hand, sighing loudly. “Always, Delboy.”_

_Dele yawned, trying to stifle it with his free hand. “Love you, Diet.”_

_“Love you too, Del,” he replied softly, his chest aching at the words leaving his mouth, squeezing their conjoined hands._

The first game after the All Star break was in Minnesota. Eric had met with coach Bradley before the team took off. He was told he wasn’t going to start, he still needed to be match ready and deserved a little more time off despite Eric insisting he was ready. He was going to be on the bench and if needed subbed on for ten or twenty minutes. Bob selfishly wanted Eric’s full debut to be at home so the fans could really enjoy it, Eric as well. He loaded the plane with the rest of the team and for the first time since joining the club he left like the new guy. He didn’t know the team politics, who sat where and with whom. Instinctively Eric would get on a team plane, sit in the aisle seat so Dele could have the window one and look out as they flew over whatever city and country they were heading to. It was an unspoken rule during his time with Spurs and the national team. Now he was lost. He walked on the plane and looked around, waiting for an invitation or an available seat. Everyone seemed to be slipping into their assigned seats with ease while Eric panicked. It was the stupidest thing to panic about but it was the first time he had to worry about something so mundane. Luckily Danilo Silva waved him over to the empty seat next to him. Eric silently thanked him as he sat in his designated aisle seat, getting himself comfortable.

The three and a half hour flight felt like it dragged. Eric got to learn a lot about Danilo and even spoke Portuguese with him, which gave him some comfort. They watched game clips from Minnesota United, Danilo telling him about the team and the last time they played. It felt good to just talk football, use the side of the brain that came easily to him. He squeezed in a short nap when Danilo closed his laptop and dozed off himself. He still felt uncomfortable, out of place, but knew it was due to feeling out of place for the first time since arriving at the club. He felt the same way when he arrived at Spurs, newbies were always treated differently, sometimes not obviously, but it happened. Especially seeing Eric arrived at an awkward time in the season, they’d been playing together for close to five months and had already gelled and he comes in and shakes up the team dynamic. He knew once he had a few minutes of playing under his belt he’d feel different, like he belonged. He just had to trust himself and the process, despite how hard it may seem at the moment. As long as his mind stayed focused on football and not anything else, Eric knew he would be okay.

Minnesota was something Eric didn’t expect. It was actually warm compared to what he had read about. The sun was hot and the sky was cloudless and blue. Maybe Eric could get used to American summers after all, even with all the traveling he’d have to do. Allianz Field was not what he expected. It was massive and modern and almost reminded him of the new and improved Spurs Stadium. They took to the pitch to train and it almost felt effortless for Eric, being in an empty stadium, ball at his feet, it was second nature to him. He briefly closed his eyes and pictured the match, the crowd loud rooting for and against him. The noise on the pitch, the sidelines, the midday sun beating down on him making his skin clammy and damp with sweat. Looking forward with the ball at his feet, seeing Dele make a mad dash down the right, past the defender marking him. Kicking the ball up and over to him to score the game winning goal against Germany and securing their third place trophy at the Euros. Eric immediately opened his eyes and shook his head. He hated how football was always going to be tied to Dele for him, no matter the distance. Despite everything going on between the two of them, Eric couldn’t shake Dele out of his mind. He lit the match that started the fire that was their demise but he was too afraid to step away from the flames, he was drawn into the red and yellow hues that he caused.

The match was thrilling, despite sitting on the bench the entire time Eric felt like a true spectator. It was a stand still until the seventieth minute when Vela scored a screamer, typical. Eric was ecstatic, overjoyed, it was his team after all that went up. The feeling didn’t last long when five minutes later Minnesota scored an equalizer. It felt like a gut punch to go equalize so quickly. Although they dropped points it was great to see the team rally and not give up after conceding a goal. The away fans were great as well, loud and making their presence known, the twelfth man on the pitch. Even after the match the atmosphere in the changing room was electric, no one was hanging their head ashamed of the draw. The immediately banned together and looked ahead to the home match in a week against Kansas City. Eric was excited for it as well because it was a chance for him to play, make his debut and do it at home in front of thousands of fans. Being back in Los Angeles made Eric feel like he was properly at home. He was getting used to the new life he had set up for himself and his cozy little one bedroom apartment downtown. He was recognizing the faces of his neighbors and shopkeepers on his block. He’d been there close to a month now. He tried to keep his family in the loop of his daily life, sending nightly text messages while they were all fast asleep in various countries and coyotes throughout Europe. The time change was the hardest thing for him to tackle, now having to coordinate phone conversations with people who were halfway around the world.

_“Why do you like Los Angeles so much?” Eric asked as he flipped through a hotel brochure in Baku._

_Dele’s eyes lit up at the sight in front of him. Eric cozy on their bed, shirtless and casually trying to read a pamphlet in another language. “Hmm? What about Los Angeles?”_

_Eric closed the brochure and placed it on the pillow next to him on the bed. “You go there during every summer holiday, why? What attracts you to the city so much?”_

_“The sun,” he guessed with a shrug. “I’ve never actually thought about it much. I feel anonymous there, don’t have to prove much to anyone while I’m there. It’s a good escape.”_

_“No one bothers you?” Eric asked curiously, sitting up to pay closer attention._

_“Not really,” Dele replied, rifling through his luggage for a shirt. “I stay in the renal home a lot, go out at night and no one stops me for a picture or an autograph so that’s a plus.”_

_“No one bothers you?” Eric repeated, more out of shock then seeking another answer._

_Dele turned around as he finally found a shirt and threw it over his head, letting it dangle from his neck briefly. “Why the sudden interest in Los Angeles, Diet?”_

_Eric’s heartbeat picked up, his palms getting clammy and his cheeks slowly started to turn pink. He took a few deep breaths to try and calm himself as Dele finished dressing. “Thinking of my holiday plans while you sail the south of France.”_

_“You can still come,” Dele told him with an eye roll. “It’s just going to me and the lads, no significant others allowed but I can always sneak you in.”_

_“Go, Delboy,” he encouraged him softly, a smile on his face. “I’ll be okay without you.”_

Game day in Los Angeles was eerily similar to Eric’s experience in London. The city just felt different, the sun was shining behind the clouds differently, the birds outside his window sang a different song. Maybe it was all in his head but everything was off, in a good way. He knew football was still growing in the country, that they had a long way to go, but he could feel the buzz in the atmosphere. He wanted to throw open his window and just shout at the world below him, that’s how excited he was. He felt like the first day of school, a new beginning in his life. He had met with Bob the day before after training and he was told he was going to start and if lucky, play the full ninety minutes. Like a giddy child, Eric text him family and let them know that he’d be playing and that they better watch any way they could. He started his day off like he did most match days, did some light stretching, watch game footage of his opponent to make mental notes. This was all new to him but still the same. It was the routine he did his entire career, the only difference was it was an opponent he had never faced before. New names and faces, new tactics and style of play for him to understand. He ate the same breakfast he always did on match day, scrambled egg whites on whole wheat toast with a side of mashed avocado. It was a meal he grew to love with at Spurs and had become some sort of lucky omen for him if he ate it. That meal was only to be eaten on days of a game, never anytime else. Eric was just overall impressed that he had enough food in him home to make the meal.

He arrived at Banc Of California Stadium around one, three hours before kickoff. He was excited and overwhelmed and he loved getting to the stadium early to soak it all in before it got crowded and loud and full of people and their adrenaline. He walked the halls, looking at the empty seats and scoping out the concession stands that had one of two people working before the chaos began. He wanted to see the field from the fans perspective, feel what they were going to feel, see what they were going to see. His phone kept vibrating in his pocket, texts from his family and a few friends wishing him luck, that they’ll be cheering him on and also watching. He felt nervous, always did before a match. Butterflies in his stomach, doubt creeping into his head. He trusted himself and his abilities, he wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t good, but he still had the inevitable fear creep in once in a while. He responded to some texts, thanking everyone genuinely before snapping a picture of the empty arena, with the sun right behind the west end of the field. Seeing that he once again got rid of his Instagram, this time for good, he tweeted the picture out with a simple caption that read “game day, I’m ready” and he was. He kept walking around the stadium, taking it all in from different levels, the closer he got to the changing room, the more he felt his adrenaline spike.

Eric got to the changing room close to two and it was empty except for a few of the stadium staff who were fixing the room. Vacuuming the carpet in the corner, cleaning the shower room. Things he knew happened before each match and each stadium but to actually see it was a bit surreal. So many things happened to make ninety minutes of football to happen. So many people who invested their time and energy to make sure he and ten other men looked good both physically and mentally. He ran his hand over the linoleum counter in the middle of the room and smiled nostalgically, thinking of all the antics he got into back in London revolving around a similar table. The Uno games that lasted longer than necessary, water bottle challenges that had no rules, arm wrestling competitions against the foreign players to see who’d play the music on the coach ride to the away stadium. Once again he had to scold himself as he let his wind travel back to a time where things were simple and easy and everything fell into place like puzzle pieces. That’s why he had to leave, everything was too easy, on and off the pitch. Nothing was challenging him anymore, he didn’t feel the drive and passion he once had for the game if he stayed at Spurs. Sitting on a bench for more than half a season was a big smack in the face after being told how confident the team was in him after a season plagued with illness and injuries. That’s why he left, he couldn’t spend the last year of his contract hoping he’d get some minutes so he looked good in front of the scouts. He took a leap of faith by opting out of his last year and begging someone would snatch him up. He never expected it to be Los Angeles, that was the place he saw himself ending up.

Eric was snapped back into reality once the rest of the squad started to show up. There was a quiet buzz surrounding the dressing room. For them it was just a normal home game against a worthy opponent, for Eric it was the start of his career, at least in MLS. Everyone could sense his nervous energy and left him alone, exchanging pleasantries as they entered but no one asking him how he was. He wouldn’t know how to answer anyway, everything seemed a bit surreal to him. Bob walked into the room a little after three with the announcement of the starting line up and Eric hung his head and smiled as he heard his name. Danilo sitting next to him and patting him on the back in congratulations. Carlos Vela of course wearing the captains armband to lead the team out onto the pitch and hopefully into victory. The warm ups were intense but necessary, Eric was still a little rusty, seeing he hadn’t played a proper match in almost over a month, but more than ready. The fans were already packing the stands and he could hear the buzz of the crowd as he squatted and bent over to stretch out his legs properly. Everything was overwhelming in a good way, everything felt right, like it had finally clicked for him that he was supposed to be there. He was supposed to kick start the second half of his career in what was a foreign country to him in a league he knew little about but was more than willing to try.

_“I love you.”_

_Dele turned around at the sound of Eric’s voice. “Love you too, Diet.”_

_“No matter what happens, remember that,” he told him._

_“What’s going on?” Dele asked, concerned. It was loud all around him. They were standing in the tunnel inside Wembley waiting go out and place their third place game against Germany. Some players were still arriving, the subs heading towards the bench._

_“I love you,” he repeated strongly. “This has been the best summer of my life professionally and personally and it’s all because of you, Delboy.”_

_“Eric,” he sighed, his voice a little shaken. “I-I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours but I’m right here, babe. I’m not going anywhere.”_

_The referee called for everyone’s attention as both teams were properly lined up in their respective places. Some players were greeting others, Kyle and John embracing Leroy and Ilkay, Hendo giving Emre a side hug. Eric watched as Dele gave Serge a fist bump in recognition. He could feel the bile rising from his stomach to his throat. His heart was beating a million times per beat. This was more than pre match nerves, this had nothing to do with the match at all._

_“Good?” Dele asked with a huge smile as they walked through the tunnel and onto the pitch, the noise from the fans deafening._

_“I need to tell you something,” Eric confessed as they stood on the pitching waving and applauding the fans._

_“It can wait,” he said, still waving at people he could see and recognize in the crowd l, friends and family._

_“I’m leaving for Los Angeles after the match, win or lose,” he blurted out as the German national anthem began to play. “I’m joining their football team.”_

_Dele quickly turned his head to face Eric, his neck cracking with the velocity. “Excuse me?”_

_“I’m leaving Spurs and joining an American team,” he explained. “I’m hopping on a plane tonight and making my announcement tomorrow.”_

_“How long have you known?” Dele asked as he clapped alongside Wembley as the German anthem enended. “Is that why you were being dodgy all summer?”_

_Eric applauded as they announced Leona Lewis to sing the national anthem. “Del-“_

_“How long?” He asked through gritted teeth._

_Eric remained silent as the anthem was being sung by Leona and a vast majority on Wembley. They entire squad locked arms and sang along. He tried to ignore the fact that he could feel Dele holding onto him a little tighter than normal, like he was clinging to him for dear life. Like he held on long enough, hard enough, he’d make Eric stay._

_“How long?” He repeated once the anthem was finished and the crowd was loud and boisterous again._

_Eric slapped hand with the Germany players as the walked down the line, looking at each one of them and trying to size them up. “Before the competition.”_

_Dele unzipped his warmup jacket and passed it to the kit man who came around to collect them. “We’re done.”_

_“Del-“_

_“No,” he snapped as he jumped up and down twice to hype himself up. “We’re over, Eric I mean it. You are selfish and a liar and you were sneaking behind my back all summer. For what? Enjoy your new life in Los Angeles. I have a game to play and so do you, don’t fuck it up.”_

The referee blew his whistle to start the match and adrenaline and excitement flooded Eric’s bloodstream almost immediately. He was more than ready for this, more than ready to have the ball at his feet once again in a competitive way. All the training in the world couldn’t take away this moment when Latif Blessings passed the ball to him in the midfield and hearing the crowd cheer over a small little pass. They were just as excited as Eric was. He had so much to prove and he was more than ready to do so. When Dániel Sallói tried to pressure him he was more than prepared, practiced and studies the Kansas City lineup, especially the strikers, he knew how to handle them. It wasn’t long before Ramirez found the back of the net and put Los Angeles up after twenty eight minutes. Even though he had nothing to do with the goal, he celebrated like he did. He was proud of the club and proud to be a member of it officially. He’d exchange playful passes with the guys in the midfield like they were on the training ground and just goofing off and having fun, that’s how easy it felt for him. Smiling at his defense as he passed the ball to Tristan Balckmon who passed it back to their keeper, Pablo Sisniega who was praised as the best goalie in MLS. Eric was surrounded by people who were just as hungry as he was, just as determined to prove something to anyone and everyone all at once. The halftime whistle blew and Eric was disappointed, he could’ve kept playing for another forty five minutes without taking a break but he knew the team needed to regroup, they were getting sloppy and exhausted. The heat was definitely a factor.

Bob praised them all for the first half performance, also letting everyone know the little mistakes they were making as well. It was odd not to hear a manager yelling. He knew it was coming eventually, when they’d eventually concede a goal or just totally mess up. For now though, Eric liked the calm and collected Bob Bradley. Vela made a quick speech and rallied the guys to step it up in the second half, knowing the team’s drive, talent, and potential. Everyone drank their water or Gatorade and ran to the bathroom to splash water on their face to cool off before heading back out for the second half. Something must’ve worked because in the fiftieth minute they scored against courtesy of Diego Rossi with a brilliant pass from Ramirez. Everything felt like it was clicking into place. The crowd was getting louder the atmosphere more euphoric. Eric just stopped before they game restarted and soaked it all in. They were up by two with a little less than half the game to play and everything felt great. He was playing well, despite his obvious nerves. Football came to him instinctively and it showed. He felt like he was paying on autopilot, he didn’t have to overthink anything at all and that felt amazing. Less than twenty minutes later Los Angeles scores a third goal from an awesome header by Vela. That’s when Kansas City went into fixing mode. Making changes and trying to change tactics. People always said the Premier League was the most competitive league in the world. They were like wrong but major league soccer wasn’t that far behind. The pace was just as fast, the tackles just as dirty, the desire and passion was just as obvious.

Everything shifted and changed when they went up by four in the seventy fifth minute. Rossi scored the goal from a free kick and Eric felt as if the stadium was going to collapse. The noise and the shaking of the stands and the pure passion and excitement got him feeling the same. Ten minutes later they conceded a goal but they remained calm. They had five minutes plus stoppage time to keep the comfortable lead or add to it. Add to it they did. Everything was in slow motion for him. He spotted Vela making a run towards the box, no one properly defending him, which was a big mistake on Kansas City’s part. Eric could see the pass in his mind. He’d done it so many times throughout his life, in practice, in games, just for fun with his brothers. He chipped the ball over the defenders head and into the six yard box for a waiting Carlos to easily smash the ball into the back of the net. Eric’s eyes lit up and he was tackled from behind by one of his teammates as Vela grabbed the ball and made a dash towards him, jumping into his arms and wrapping his legs around his waist, kissing his temple and practically screaming in his face in pure excitement. Out of all the goals he scored of assisted in his life, that one meant the world to him. That one proved to himself and whatever naysayers he had that he belonged. He still had the talent and the desire and passion and skill to play.

The match ended and Los Angeles had won by five goals to one. Taking the three points and keeping a comfortable lead in the western division. The celebratory atmosphere continued in the changing room, music blaring and singing and dancing throughout the room. Bob came in and congratulated everyone before he and Vela left the room to do their post match interviews. Eric grabbed his shower bag and headed towards the showers, the water drowning out the sounds of the music and shouting a room away. He felt proud of himself, properly accomplished. He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face the entire time. Showering and changing into his street clothes, nothing and no one could change his mood. He rummaged through his bag and found his phone which was inundated with notifications. His family group chat going off every few seconds with a play by play of the match. His brothers and sisters taking the piss out of every little thing Eric did. His mum and dad being the proud parents that they were, only leaving messages of encouragement and scolding his siblings when they would say something harsh just to get a laugh. He left them a message of thanks and told them that he’d call once he got home and that he loved and missed them. He definitely needed to get his parents to come to Los Angeles and see him play in the flesh one day. He’d talk to them about that later. He drove home in silence, letting the last few hours soak in so he could fully absorb it. He stopped at his favorite McDonald’s and treated himself to a McFlurry because he knew he deserved it. Eric dropped his bag by the front door and kicked off his shoes when his cell phone rang. He froze as he looked at the number calling. His face drained of color and he panicked, didn’t know what to do.

“Hello?”

“Good game, Diet.”

“Del, I-“

“Don’t,” he interrupted him. “I didn’t call for that. Your face and that damn good assist is all over Sky Sports.”

“I-I don’t know what to say,” he croaked out, sitting on his couch to stabilize himself. Hearing Dele’s voice again overwhelmed him. It was so soft and inviting, like a blanket.

“There’s nothing to say,” he told him. “You broke us, broke me. I’m a big boy though, picked myself up and healed myself.”

“I haven’t done much healing,” Eric confessed weakly. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“An absence you chose!” He exclaimed, sighing deeply right after. “I knew I shouldn’t have called. I knew this would happen.”

“Dele-“

“I never got a proper goodbye,” he said, mostly talking to himself. “You dropped the bomb and left, like you said you would. Didn’t even fight for me, not that I would’ve let you. You hurt me, Eric. So deeply, you scarred me deep. Now I’m supposed to walk around this city, this country and not be constantly reminded of you and what we were, what we had.”

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I see you every time I close my eyes. Everything I do reminds me of you.”

“And that’s something you’ve got to deal with on your own,” he spat at him. “I could’ve handled the distance, I truly could have made it work but you took the choice away from me, from us.”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he told him softly.

“This is the goodbye I never got to tell you,” Dele informed him. “Thank you for opening my heart and making me realize I was capable of expressing love and being loved. We both know how hard that was for me. Goodbye, Eric. Enjoy Los Angeles and good luck with the rest of the season. I won’t call you again and I won’t look or ask for you either. Forget me because I’m sure as hell going to try and forget you.”

Eric day open mouthed and shocked as he heard Dele’s words and felt them cut him like a knife right through his chest. He could feel his eyes well up but tried to keep it in. He couldn’t lose it, not now, not ever. He had to suck it up and take it because he knew he deserved it. When he heard the clock of the other line that’s when Eric dropped his phone next to him. The home was silent and all he could hear was Dele’s words echoing in his mind. This was it, this is how their story ended. There was no way of salvaging it now and that was something Eric had to deal with for the rest of his life.


End file.
